


the life is good, good is the life

by fiskanel



Series: solve it, revolve it [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Anger Management, Blood, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Killing, Kissing, M/M, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22543996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiskanel/pseuds/fiskanel
Summary: From time to time Sakusa wants to empty a full clip into the head of some criminal, chop their head off and to feed the remains to starved pigs. Or avoid feeding and have a ceremonial burning so that he gets the feeling that he has done it himself, with his own hands, because now his nerves are getting the best of him. The first rule of their agency is no killing until other options get irrelevant.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: solve it, revolve it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627972
Comments: 2
Kudos: 125





	the life is good, good is the life

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [и жить хорошо, и жизнь хороша](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22543534) by [fiskanel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiskanel/pseuds/fiskanel). 



From time to time Sakusa wants to empty a full clip into the head of some criminal, chop their head off and to feed the remains to starved pigs. Or avoid feeding and have a ceremonial burning so that he gets the feeling that he has done it himself, with his own hands, because now his nerves are getting the best of him. The first rule of their agency is no killing until other options get irrelevant.

In fact, a detective agency is not a place where he saw himself back in the child years when they were asked to write those silly essays on ‘what I’m going to be when I grow up’. A detective agency led by Bokuto Koutarou is actually some fiction thing, but all in all he can’t complain.

His shirt is stained with blood when another case is finished, and this time the red marks, as ill luck would have it, aren’t easy to wash off. He rubs the white cuff with his free hand, feeling sweat dripping down his face; he needs to tell Bokuto to fix the vent, otherwise sooner or later one of them would die of this sultry in the bathroom.

They fucked up again. They only needed to figure out where the money of one man went, well, to follow those bad guys, to test the waters, to cross-reference all the things and just then, if needed, to attack, but the attack comes first when they are met with loaded guns. Well, Sakusa had such an idea that they could get in a trap, but even he is puzzled by the sound of gunshots: how could it happen so quickly? This godforsaken hangar is a dustbowl, bullets cutting the air above them, everyone runs away to their hiding places. In the corner of his eye, Sakusa notices Bokuto: he is hiding behind the column with his gun out. Killing, then.

He’s got no time to look for others, it’s still dusty and loud around, but Sakusa hears tires screeching and shoots several times, focusing on the outline of the car. No one will get away from here. Blood is pounding in his ears, and Sakusa has to keep a cool head: there are five potential criminals that would rather be questioned about the huge sum of money they’ve put somewhere. Somebody else’s money.

Four against five – a good way to start, moreover, they are kind of pros among pros, with two remote whistleblowers and a few more tricks up their sleeves.

When they finish this fucked up case, they have four dead bodies and a hostage. The one responsible for persuasion – this is the way they call interrogation – in their team is Atsumu, He never shoves guns in hostages’ faces, doesn’t threaten to rip their nails out or hunt down their families. He is kind with them.

Finally, when their operation is over and Bokuto is calling the police department, lively chatting with his friend on the phone, Sakusa watches Atsumu. He is sitting just in front of the tied up man, without worrying that this dude could possibly hit him with his head or pull another stunt like that. Hinata is right on the warehouse wooden boxes next to them: he moves his legs back and force, swinging carelessly and staring at his telephone when typing, as if no shooting has just occurred. His attitude always fascinates Sakusa.

He comes near Atsumu, looking down at him while Atsumu is chirping some non-threatening things to a dude in front of him. Then Sakusa asks: ‘Need any help?’

Atsumu has his jacket covered in dust and hair tumbling from comb-over a bit, and there are no other signs of him being involved in this crossfire, so Sakusa concludes that, together with Bokuto, they’ve got the worst of it.

‘Huh? Nope, thanks, Omi-kun. You’ve got some blood over here,’ he touches his own face, pointing at the patch of skin near his nose, the exact place where Sakusa’s mask ends. He smiles tenderly, turning back to his companion. ‘Let’s go on, honey bunny? The smell here is gross, you know that, corpses-corpses, terror-terror. Wanna figure everything out and get home.’

Anyway, Sakusa doesn’t leave him, sitting down on the concrete steps three feet from them. Atsumu is chatting in the background, explaining how mean it is to steal other peoples’ money, what noble ways of making a living exist and how many people die of sheer stupidity. Sakusa throws his head back and closes his eyes, concentrating on Atsumu’s voice.

‘…look, all your guys are already dead, no bigwigs left, as Kenma and Akaashi informed us. It means you are all alone, and being alone sucks, right? You must’ve hidden the loot, as there was no time for you to invest or to launder it, and even though you are not Lebowski, I’m going to ask you one more time. Where’s the money? Don’t fret, the police will take care of you anyway, a few years off your sentence and hurray, you’re out, a law-abiding citizen and all that sort of thing.’

He eventually sings like a canary, this dude, and watches Atsumu pretty desperate when he waves at Bokuto so the latter rushes the police.

‘That’s brilliant! Thanks for cooperation!’ Atsumu cheers that criminal when he is being put in the police car. ‘Whew. Home now?’

‘Nuh-uh, guys, office first.’ Bokuto says goodbye to some of his police-friends and tucks his jacket. ‘Oh, no! We’ll pick up Keiji first and then go.’

It’s interesting to watch Bokuto when he’s whith Akaashu: despite all the passion, he calms down a little next to Keiji, as if sharing his energy between two of them. They pick up Akaashi a couple blocks from their location, and he quickly gets in the front, listening to all the exclamations about ‘four bodies, Akaashi, it was a dustbowl, this terrible hangar, damn, thought we would have a close call!’ and smiling softly, occasionally reminding Bokuto to watch the road.

Hinata nestles in the back seat, between Sakusa and Atsumu, fidgeting and snuggling up to one guy and then the other.

‘Weren’t we awesome with them, huh?’ he sometimes looks up from his phone and joins the conversation Bokuto and Akaashi have, making Atsumu share the topic, too. Sakusa again feels like there was no shooting for Hinata at all. ‘Bokuto-san, Bokuto-san! Drop me off next to the bookstore, please!’

‘No problem,’ Bokuto smiles looking into the rearview. ‘Going to visit Kenma?’

‘Yes! You don’t need me today anymore, do you?’ he looks at every of the them with a hope in his eyes: first his puppy-like eyes stare at Bokuto through the rearview, than alternately at Atsumu and Sakusa.

‘We don’t,’ Atsumu laughs and tosses his hair. ‘We’ll get the things finished in the office ourselves.’

When they drop Hinata off, there’s some more free space on the back seat and Sakusa opens his hands warmly so that Sakusa can lean back on him.

‘Still can’t figure it out, Omi-kum. Do you have curly or wavy hair?’ Atsumu wraps a lock of black hair oh his finger thoughtfully, when they approach a familiar building.

“Thought you were an expert on hair,’ Sakusa tilts his head slightly to catch an annoyed look, but instead of making a salty comment Atsumu sits up, kissing his forehead tenderly. Sakusa still has his black mask on, even though he is aware that it’s probably stained with someone’s blood, and when Atsumu pokes him in the ribs the sound is a little muffled.

The task to write a report suddenly falls on Akaashi’s shoulders: he patiently listens to all the things Bokuto is telling him and filters the data. Sakusa occasionally hears their voices through the water running.

‘Hey, Omi-kun, don’t rub so hard! Let’s go,’ as always, Atsumu comes out of nowhere and drags him to the main room. ‘Damn, you’ve just made it worse. Who the hell puts on a white shirt for the mission? Go ahead, take it off, I’ll wash it off at home.’

There’s a black cardigan on top of Sakusa’s white shirt, and it has no visible bloodstains, but once Sakusa takes it off, new spots are to be discovered.

‘Geez, Omi-kun, who did you bust a cap in if you are that blood-covered? Come on, take everything off, I might have a clean hoodie somewhere over here.’

Under different circumstances Sakusa would have certainly refused it: he doesn’t know how long this hoodie has been in their office and where it used to lie around, but being in a shirt covered with blood is the least pleasant option. While Atsumu is rooting through the closets, Sakusa unbuttons his shirt and leans back on the couch. Involuntarily, his hand continues to rub the cuff soiled the most. He is definitely used to being…cleaner.

‘Omi-kun, I’m talking to you, stop rubbing it.’ Atsumu throws his faded red hoodie at him. ‘You’ll take the skin off your wrist if you continue doing this, rather than make the blood disappear.’

When Sakusa changes his clothes, the phantom feeling doesn’t get anywhere: his wrist is tingling beneath the stretched out sleeve cuff.

‘Kiyoomi! Give me your hand now,’ Atsumu reacts faster than Sakusa: he snaps out Sakusa’s palm and brings it to his own face, tracing his nose against the back of the hand and kissing it gently. He pats Sakusa’s hand soothingly, wrapping their fingers together and pressing them into the surface of the couch. ‘That’s how we are going to sit so that you don’t itch it.’

‘There’s no need,’ it must be said, Sakusa is actually grateful for this. It helps him relax.

‘Yeah, the only need is to peel the skin off, right? Look, the skin has reddened all over there, Omi-kun. You should control yourself!’

Indeed, Sakusa has some problems with self-control from time to time: he occasionally feels getting his wires twisted because of emotions he isn’t used to be facing. His aloofness is cracking like ice under the pressure of his anger on those especially bad days. Sakusa doesn’t feel ashamed for it, he doesn’t act like nothing has happened, because he knows: others do notice it and do understand him. Especially Atsumu.

Atsumu is incredibly understanding: he remembers all the moments when Sakusa seemed to drop out of their social circle, remembers his face overfilled with thinking, his exhausted look. He remembers Sakusa saying ‘can we switch today’ and exposing himself to kisses and thrusts, as if implying ‘can you make me stop thinking’. Atsumu remembers Sakusa once standing on his knees in front of him with such a hint of detachment in his eyes, that over-excited Atsumu had to stop him.

‘No, this won’t work, Omi-kun. You look like you don’t want to make a blowjob, but rater prefer choke on my dick and die. What has happened?’

Atsumu rarely asks him to stop overthinking because he knows that’s not the right thing to tell Sakusa. He will overthink, will complicate things and will makes his conclusions, and preferably this all will be done in silence which Atsumu won’t provide him with. Atsumu knows those thoughts are like quicksands for Sakusa, and Atsumu is always there to save him if necessary.

‘We fucked up,’ Atsumu turns his head to the sound of Sakusa voice, but the latter avoids eye contact. Fortunately, there’s no need to coax every word out of him. ‘We could have made better preparations and then there wouldn’t be four dead bodies.’

Atsumu thinks for a couple of seconds and hums.

‘Well, you’re right,’ he has the client’s contract under his free hand, turning the pages and at times shouting something at Akaashi who keeps on filling out the report. Enough for everyone, as always. ‘But! I’m sure they’ve been fed some info about us. They were expecting us to come, way too well. ’

He is totally right: the criminals’ preparedness was definitely supported by something , but they weren’t good pros, so it all worked out like that. Four dead bodies, one in prison.

‘You can treat it as self-defense,’ Atsumu pats his hand again, still pressing it slightly into the couch. ‘They were the first to start shooting. We had no other choice. But now we know where the money is, and one of those dudes is to have fun with Daichi and Kuroo, so the life is good, good is the life.

Sakusa is getting more relaxed eventually; he stretches across Atsumu and grabs half of the documents to help Akaashi with the report, chats with Bokuto about that strange client who let someone steal a fortune so easily. Bokuto laughs that stranger things have happened to them, but it’s all is better than investigating someone’s cheating or a puppy missing. The things they deal with are a lot more exciting.

‘Hey, Akaashi!’ Bokuto calls and bounces to Keiji who sits at the table. ‘You’ve made it great with Kenma today! I’ve always been fascinated by the way you bring it all to light.’

Sakusa watches Bokuto clinging to Akaashi, embracing his shoulders and pressing his cheek over the back of Akaashi’s head, while Keiji is smiling and is trying not to push his coffee cup down the table. Akaashi murmurs something like ‘Bokuto-san, need to finish the report’ and laughs at the way Bokuto sits near him like a loyal watchdog and asks to give him a task. What a boss.

‘Home now, Omi-kun?’ Sakusa hears this voice in 30 minutes which he’s spent in some half-asleep state. Atsumu is now holding the bag with Sakusa’s dirty clothes, a new mask and an antiseptic for him which he takes gratefully. The wrist doesn’t bother anymore, that phantom itching sensation has disappeared. He sprays disinfectant at his hands several times, rubbing it between the fingers, and takes the bag off Atsumu’s shoulder, receiving a peck on the cheek.

Yeah. Home now.


End file.
